Poems (Lambert)/The Beautiful
THE BEAUTIFUL.
THE beautiful! what is not perfect here below,
Created by the great Almighty power?
Each grain of sand Omnipotence doth show,
And beauty beameth in the humblest flower.
Created by the great Almighty power?
Each grain of sand Omnipotence doth show,
And beauty beameth in the humblest flower.
There's beauty in the budding leaves of spring,
In the maturity of summer born—
And in the many hues that autumn's bring,
And in bright winter's glittering sheen at dawn.
In the maturity of summer born—
And in the many hues that autumn's bring,
And in bright winter's glittering sheen at dawn.
Mark you the smallest insect's many hues;
What beauty in their ever changing shade!
The diamond glistening of the morning dews,—
The sunbeams on the ocean's bosom stayed.
What beauty in their ever changing shade!
The diamond glistening of the morning dews,—
The sunbeams on the ocean's bosom stayed.
Night robed in darkness, and with bright gems crowned;
The silvery softness of the midnight moon;
The sunrise-sky, with gold and blue zone-bound;
The fiery splendor of the day at noon.
The silvery softness of the midnight moon;
The sunrise-sky, with gold and blue zone-bound;
The fiery splendor of the day at noon.
The snow-white summit of the mountain proud;
The solemn stillness of the flowery dell;
The fleecy brightness of the sun-capped cloud;
The gem-decked chambers of the ocean's cell.
The solemn stillness of the flowery dell;
The fleecy brightness of the sun-capped cloud;
The gem-decked chambers of the ocean's cell.
There's regal grandeur in the rushing storm;
There's sweetness in the gentle rain soft falling;
There's splendor in the lightning's dazzling form,
And thunder is majestic, yet appalling.
There's sweetness in the gentle rain soft falling;
There's splendor in the lightning's dazzling form,
And thunder is majestic, yet appalling.
See life and beauty in the thoughtless child—
The nobler beauty of good manhood's grace;
The saintlier beauty of the aged mild,
Who waiteth summons to the resting place.
The nobler beauty of good manhood's grace;
The saintlier beauty of the aged mild,
Who waiteth summons to the resting place.
Can ye not see the beautiful repose,
O'er all the earth? How blind then, are your eyes!
For there is dearth of beauty but to those
Who scorn the Giver, and His gifts despise.
O'er all the earth? How blind then, are your eyes!
For there is dearth of beauty but to those
Who scorn the Giver, and His gifts despise.